Out of Breath (Exposed Series Book 2) (9 page)

Dawn and I were sitting near the window overlooking the parking
lot with our double order of pulled pork sandwiches and ridiculously tasty
sweet potato fries. Left to my own devices with access to undisturbed bathroom
time, I definitely would’ve gotten the large meal. But I couldn’t count on
having a chance to purge anymore so I just got the regular size like she did.

I watched Dawn wipe the corners of her mouth and sit back for a
second. She had demolished every bite of her meal which she hardly ever did.

“That was filling,” she said, admiring the pile of crumpled,
sauce covered napkins in front of her.

“Agreed,” I said, popping the last crispy fry in my mouth.

She stood up.

I started putting the trash on our tray.

“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

I watched her get in line at the ice cream place and started to
panic. Ice cream was a major trigger food for me. I had never been able to eat
it in reasonable quantities or without extreme guilt. I squeezed my eyes shut
and hoped that when I opened them I would see that it wasn’t actually her in
line there, but it was in vain.

I dumped our trash in a nearby garbage can and stacked the
plastic red tray on top. By the time I’d walked back to our table, I was even
more sure that I was full, that my stomach was somewhere between empty and
stuffed. Which was a nice feeling and one I was having a lot more lately.

After all, my stomach had started to shrink now that I wasn’t
stretching it to capacity every day. So it didn’t take thousands of calories in
disgusting marathon eating sessions for me to fill it up anymore. Which felt
like real progress.

So when I saw Dawn returning with the Jumbo Dumbo Ice Cream Cup-
the one they advertised as the menu item for elephant sized ice cream cravings-
I was pissed.

When she set it down I noticed that there were two spoons sticking
out of the gallon sized mountain of cold cream. It was hard to believe I’d ever
eaten a whole one by myself. On more than one occasion. How disgusting was I?
It made me cringe to look at it now, especially in front of Dawn. Not that she
knew I’d ever eaten a whole one myself. Nobody knew that but me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dawn said.

“I thought you were full?”

“I am.”

“So why did you get this?”

“I thought it might taste nice,” she said. “And I’m trying to
prove a point here.”

“Of course you are.”

“So hear me out.”

I nodded. I was sort of used to her going off on her rants by
then. And I much preferred her rants about food to the ones about the merits of
masturbation. Though it was still a mystery why Dawn’s preaching didn’t annoy
me the way my Mother’s did.

I think part of it was that hearing her opinions was still a
novelty. Plus, I was in no position to turn down free professional help.

I watched as a drip of vanilla ice cream formed at the top of
the dessert and sat on my hands.

She looked around to confirm that everyone near us was absorbed in
their own conversations before turning back to me. “So.”

“So.”

“So one of the problems with growing up is that you have to
learn to overcome your own urges.”

“Yeah.”

“Which is useful when you need to be disciplined. Like if you
really want to take a nap, but it’s the middle of the workday, or if you have a
wedgie, but you just painted your nails,” she said, scraping a small bite of
ice cream onto her spoon and holding it in the air in front of her.

“Right. Got it.”

“But you should never ignore the signals your body gives you
that tell you when you’re hungry or full. Does that make sense?”

“Sure.”

“Have you ever not eaten even though you were hungry?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ve eaten when you weren’t hungry or when you were
already full before?”

She knew I had. I was awesome at that.

“Right. Well, you need to learn to pay attention to how your
stomach feels and let that inform the decisions you make up here,” she said,
pointing to her head.

I nodded.

“Let me give you a different example.” She popped a bite of ice
cream in her mouth. “Then we’ll do an experiment.”

I crossed my arms.

“Imagine a potty training toddler.”

“Okay.”

“Think about how crazy it must be for a little baby to learn to recognize
its own body’s signals so it can predict when it will have to use the
bathroom.”

“Intense.”

“Right?” she said. “Well in order for you to heal your
relationship with food, you have to be just as interested in listening to your body.”

I pursed my lips.

“And if you listen, it will tell you all kinds of things like when
you’re hungry, thirsty, tired, or full. It will even tell you when you are
craving something specific, like red meat or vegetables or-”

“I get it.”

“Okay, good. Pick up your spoon.”

I sighed. I really didn’t want any ice cream. I hadn’t even had
a chance to estimate how many calories were in the meal I just ate yet.

“Now. Did you know that as you become fuller, food starts to
taste less good with every bite?”

I squinted at her. “Maybe some foods,” I said. “But ice cream is
ice cream. It always tastes good.”

“It always tastes good, sure, but the second bite is never as
good as the first, and the third is never as good as the second and so on.”

“Are you trying to trick me into eating all this ice cream?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Good.”

“I just want you to take a few bites and pay attention to how
each bite tastes a little different.”

I looked back and forth between her and the melting opposition.

“A few bites?”

She nodded. “Think you can do that?”

“I guess.” I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After
all, she hadn’t steered me wrong yet.

Her eyes were fixed on me as I took my first small bite.

It was totally creamy and delicious. A positive taste explosion!
I was looking forward to my second bite.

It was delicious! No less delicious in fact! She was crazy. I
could practically feel the happy chemicals firing in my brain.

I took the third bite, letting the ice cream coat my tongue and cool
my throat. It was still tasty, but I was expecting more.

I furrowed my brow and took a fourth bite. It was still ice
cream. Yummy. Worth writing a song about. But it wasn’t the first bite. It was
missing a little something.

I took one more bite to be sure. Just in case the fourth bite
was a fluke. But it wasn’t. There was no doubt that the fifth bite wasn’t as
good as the first or second.

“Huh.” I stared at my clean spoon.

“Well?” Dawn cocked her head.

“Five bites. Maybe even four before the amazing taste faded a
bit.” I was surprised. I didn’t even want anymore, especially now that I knew my
best bites were behind me.

“Now that happened pretty quickly because you’re already full
from our meal.”

“Yeah.”

“But that will always happen. No matter what you’re eating. So
if you really taste your food and listen to your body, you won’t feel as
compelled to overeat.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever stopped eating ice cream after five
bites.”

“You can have more if you want.”

“No, I’m good,” I said, looking at the softening pile of
sweetness. “Even though it seems like such a waste. I mean, there’s so much
there.”

“Kate.” Dawn locked her eyes on mine.

“What?”

“There will always be more.”

“What?”

“There will always be more food than you want or need, and it is
never
your last chance to eat something.”

“That’s the opposite of how I think when I’m binging.”

She nodded.

I lowered my voice. “When I binge I always tell myself it’s the
last time. So I feel like I have to eat as much as I can because it’s my only
chance.”

“But it’s not,” she said. “It never is.”

“Cause I can always have something another time.”

“Helpful?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“Your practice.”

“Oh.” She stood up and pointed at melting iceberg on the table.
“Are you done with this?”

“Yeah.”

She walked it over to the garbage can and tipped the ice cream
in.

“You must miss it,” I said when she returned. “You’re good at
it. Helping people.”

“Thanks, Kate. That’s nice of you to say.”

“Your patients must miss you.”

“They’re okay. They’re all in good hands with the counselors
they’re seeing now.”

“Why did you decide to take time off, though?” I asked as we
headed towards the exit.

“I was just listening to my body,” she said, looking at me out
of the corner of her eye. “It said
take a break, Dawn
.”

“When do you think you’ll start practicing again?”

“I don’t know. Right now I’m just trying to focus on enjoying my
time with you.”

It sounded like bullshit to me. And I wanted to say it was
against the rules for her not to tell me the truth when she knew so many of my
secrets. I mean, she was the one that made up the honesty rule in the first
place.

But I didn’t want to pry or make her uncomfortable, especially
when she had been so patient with me. Plus, whatever was really going on, I
figured the truth would come out eventually.

I just hoped it wasn’t anything too serious.

I don’t know what it was about her sign that made me stop. Maybe
it was because earlier that day, I’d been feeling disappointed that I wasn’t
religious.

I realized that if I believed in a man in the sky, there would
be an obvious spiritual guide for me to go consult on the subject of my
imminent death. Unfortunately, by the Church’s standards, I was a habitual
sinner. So to repent now “just in case” seemed like it would be an extremely
false gesture and a waste of time for both myself and the spiritual guide with
whom I would undoubtedly have nothing in common.

Plus, last I checked, priests couldn’t prescribe anything
stronger than prayer and holding out for salvation. So I had to assume I’d be
happier sticking with my doctor.

But Madame Ursula wasn’t a priest. She was a palm reader. And
something about the potential for spontaneous human connection and instant
gratification appealed to me in that moment.

So that’s how I ended up past three purple beaded doorways
underneath a Subway sandwich shop sitting across from a mole and jewel
encrusted woman.

“What’s your name?” Madame Ursula asked.

After all the beaded curtains, I expected her to be wearing a
turban or have crazy hair, but she looked like any old woman you’d walk by in a
grocery store. Except for an abundance of fake gold rings and maroon lipstick
that was so dark it was almost black. Which was especially unattractive because
it was seeping into the vertical lines around her mouth. I guessed that Madame
Ursula must have been a smoker, too.

“Dawn.”

“Pretty name.”

I wished I could say the same.

“Did you want to have your palm or your tarot cards read today?
Or both?” She kept her lips parted when she wasn’t talking as if they might
stick together if she closed them.

“My palm, please.” As a typical nonbeliever, I was skeptical and
hopeful at the same time. Though I wasn’t exactly sure what I expected- or what
I wanted- her to tell me.

Madame Ursula nodded, cleared her throat, and put her hands on
the circular table between us. She turned my right hand over and pushed the
skin around, causing different lines to deepen and grow shallower depending on
where she applied pressure.

Suddenly, her expression fell and she looked up at me. “You’re
dying.”

“Aren’t we all?” I asked, not wanting to make things too easy
for her.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “But most of us have more time than
you do. Even me.”

I swallowed.

“Your life line.” She dragged her finger along a crease that went
down the center of my palm. “It’s cut short.”

“How long do I have?”

She shook her head. “That is not for me to say.”

“Please.” I wanted her to earn her twenty bucks

“I don’t need to tell you. You know enough.”